Memoirs of Harleen Quinzel, MD
by Brother Bandit
Summary: "A narcissistic psychopathic megalomaniac with no regards for human life – that is my Mr. J, the man I fell in love with."


Memoirs of Harleen Quinzel, MD

* * *

People often say madness and genius are just microns apart. For most people, what's I've done will seem the epitome of insanity. Then again, what sane person would believe that I, a blond 'chick' with blue eyes, could ever be valedictorian and captain of the cheerleaders?

Well, the cheerleader part they'd believe, but valedictorian? They would scoff outright and say I probably slept with the principal. Ha! I say, please, Mr. Edwards may be kind and sweet, but he is so old and so married and so not my type!

Whether I'm looked by the lowly thug, or even the B-man himself, I don't care. I blaze my own trail.

As a native Gothamite, I've heard all sorts of stories about Arkham Asylum. Tales like the tragic fate of the founder who ended up a patient if his own institution. These stories were all meant to scare the kids and deter them from setting foot on the island. As for me, they just increased my curiosity. It was inevitable that I chose to major in psychologist.

Arkham was my first choice for internship; I was the only one in my year to choose it. My friends and my family all thought I was crazy for picking that place. They spoke of the "Curse of Arkham" and told me of doctors who followed the founder's footsteps and became incarcerated themselves. Preposterous, I'd tell them, there is no such thing. Disorders of the mind are never contagious, unless of course you have meningitis or mad cow disease.

I met Mr. J on my first visit to Arkham. I confess that I was smitten with him almost immediately. He had charm like no other guy I met, and his never ending quest to find humor in life attracted me even more. Above all, I loved his loud boisterous laughter when he threw caution to the wind and just enjoyed himself.

Now, I know what you're all thinking: how does a smart girl like me become head-henchwoman of the Clown Prince of Crime? I tell ya, it wasn't easy.

After the Rosenhan experiments rocked the psychiatric world, it isn't enough to just feign madness; I have to play my part of love-sick sex slave who'd do anything to get her Puddin's attention. My role had to be perfect in order to fool even Mr. J.

Once inside, though, I've discovered world so different from the ordinary one. I'm surrounded almost constantly by all sorts of geniuse. There's my best friend Red, a gifted biochemist who just wants the world a little greener. Brilliant Edward Nygma is always coming up with so many hard riddles and enjoys watching us rack our brains for the answer. Then, there are Dr. Strange and Dr. Crane, both of whom were my senior colleagues, and both of whom are now incarcerated like I am. And yes, I do believe in Arkham's Curse now, since I am its living proof.

Of course, there is my Mr. J. He is as ingenious as he is crafty. His schemes, while deadly, are always brilliantly crafted. He is so resourceful; he can turn anything – and I mean anything – Into something he needs, whether it is a weapon or just a tool to aid in his plans. Now, I adore Mr. J, but I am not an airhead who trapezes into a minefield without protection – or without a reason. Since I was little, my mother always taught me to think with my head and not with my heart, and to this day, I follow her advice to the letter. The fact that I'm alive,today is testament to that.

Charming as my Puddin' is, I see him in the way I diagnosed him. After all, I was – and still am – his personal physician. A narcissistic psychopathic megalomaniac with no regards for human life – that is my Mr. J, the man I fell in love with.

As I said, I never let my emotions overrule my reason. I certainly didn't dive into the criminal world - and become a criminal myself - because I loved him.

...well okay, maybe I did want to get to know him a little more, but that's not the main reason.

Ever since B-man started to clean up the streets a little, all sorts of wierd minds came washing up to Arkham's doorsteps. All the doctors, including me, have tried to find what makes these patient tick. So far, their efforts have been wasted, and no wonder. It's like finding a sand dollar on the beach and wondering how the creature behaved when it was alive. Sometimes, you have to dive in and find out. That is what I have done. I use new persona as my diving suit, and I've entered this world of sharks through possibly the hardest – and most exciting – portal of entry: through Joker's heart.

I have seen the world through their eyes, and it's a bit gloomy down here. There is just one beacon shining down on us, and it's you, B-man. Everyone here fears you, revere you. To many, like myself, you are the shining example of what we all aspire to. Like every rogue down here, you are beyond crazy. What person in their right mind would trapeze a night with such a ridiculous – yet hot – costume to fight crime and all villainy? Yet, unlike us, you blend in so well with society that few gets a glimpse at you during the day. I am so jealous of you, B-man. You slip in and out of the criminal world with such ease, while your name and your symbol burns into all of our minds. Meanwhile, I've become little more than a slave, obeying her master and appeasing his every whim.

B-man, I know you're reading this. That's why I left this where it is. We should compare notes, sometime... when we're alone, of course. I would love to get to know you a little more.  
~ Ciao!


End file.
